TIME QUAKE (34 page)

‘Oh. That wasn’t actually my intention.’ Alice failed to disguise the tremble in her voice.

Lord Luxon searched Alice’s face and she could not help turning away from his piercing stare. He reached into his pocket and drew out a postcard. ‘I was particularly happy to encounter this painting downstairs. See, I have purchased a memento of my visit.’

Alice glanced at it and her grip tightened on the handrail.

‘Do you know it?’

‘“Washington Crossing the Delaware”. Of course. Every American child knows this painting.’

‘A stirring image – yet clearly painted by someone who had not witnessed the event . . . But then, our heroes owe as much to those who represent them as to the heroic acts themselves. Would you agree?’

‘You should have more faith in people. The world has produced some genuine heroes . . .’

‘You think me cynical?’

‘To put it mildly.’

Lord Luxon laughed. Alice took some deep breaths and tried not to let her eyes wander towards Montfaron and Inspector Wheeler. She feared that she had given herself away for Lord Luxon directed his gaze more than once over to the incongruous pair who stood close to one of the large metallic sculptures that adorned the roof garden of the Met.

‘The view from here is sublime, although I am at a loss to understand why these objects have found a home here. Do
you
admire them, Alice?’

‘Yes, I like them – but, if it’s all the same to you, I’m not in the mood for a discussion on modern art.’

Lord Luxon laughed. ‘Very well. If that topic of conversation holds no interest for Miss Stacey we shall move on to another. For example . . . I have lately been preoccupied with preparations for a short trip.’

Alice felt her muscles tense. ‘Oh? Where are you headed?’

Lord Luxon smiled benignly at her. ‘Trenton, New Jersey . . .’

A police siren heading towards mid-town echoed over Central Park. Alice suddenly became intensely aware of the blood beating in her temples and for a moment she thought she was about to faint.
Trenton!
She found herself seeking out the reassuring figure of the Marquis de Montfaron and when he saw the fear in her eyes he immediately started towards her, motioning to Inspector
Wheeler to let him go alone. No! she wanted to shout, I didn’t mean for you to . . . But it was too late. Lord Luxon had already spotted the Marquis.

‘Good evening, Miss Stacey,’ said the Marquis, kissing her hand.

‘May I present . . . Mr Montfaron,’ said Alice hesitantly and then, being at a loss to know what else to say, added: ‘He’s from France.’

Lord Luxon inclined his head and eyed the tall man a little suspiciously. He seemed annoyed at the intrusion.

‘Can there be a finer prospect than this in all of America?’ said the Marquis de Montfaron to Lord Luxon with a sweeping bow. ‘Does not Central Park please you, sir? It is as if Nature herself has been
imprisoned
by artifice.’

‘It is a fine prospect,
monsieur
, although I prefer to see Manhattan from afar, rising up out of the ocean.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Montfaron replied. ‘It is always wise to put some distance between oneself and the object of one’s desire.’ Lord Luxon looked sharply at Montfaron who merely smiled back pleasantly. He continued: ‘A Manhattan sunset is a wonder to behold, is it not? Who would wish to change a single detail of it?’

‘Life is change, monsieur, change and movement – it is in the nature of things.’

‘Change is one thing,’ replied Montfaron. ‘
Destruction
is quite another . . . I suppose that you are aware of the phenomenon which recently took place in London?’

‘I heard tell of some curious occurrence . . .’

‘There were reports of ghosts and phantoms and a great roaring sound was heard all over the city as if the end of the world had come. Those with greater knowledge than I have called it a
time quake
. Nor was it the first. Rather these time quakes might be
viewed as the first symptoms of a fatal disease. Who knows how long Time itself will be able to sustain the damage
you
are inflicting on it.’

‘I? Damage which
I
have been inflicting on the fabric of
time
?’ exclaimed Lord Luxon incredulously. He looked at the Frenchman. ‘Who the devil are you, sir?’

‘The same century witnessed our births and the same device transported us to the future,’ replied Montfaron. ‘I know of what I speak.’

Alice was trying to take in what the Marquis had said. She put her hand to her mouth. ‘A
time quake
. . . ?’ she breathed. ‘And it was caused by Lord Luxon?’

Lord Luxon made as if to leave but the Marquis grabbed hold of his arm.

‘Who would not wish to travel to different centuries if he could? But you must know that with each use of the device more parallel worlds are formed and the closer we all move to
oblivion
.’

‘What device?’ asked Alice.

Lord Luxon shook Montfaron’s hand off his arm. ‘You talk in riddles, sir!’

Montfaron pressed on: ‘Existence cannot be undone. To go back in time is to
change
time. Yet the universe will duplicate itself rather than permit a single second of existence to be destroyed. You, sir, have unwittingly created parallel worlds whose number defies belief—’

‘Parallel worlds!’ exclaimed Alice. ‘What are you talking about?’

Lord Luxon drew out his handkerchief and waved it at Montfaron as if he were shooing away a fly.

‘Madam, this is not to be borne . . . I no longer care to listen to the ravings of this . . .
Frenchman
.’

‘But you
must
listen,’ said Montfaron. ‘For all depends on it!
Understand that you are like a fox running through the forest with a burning torch tied to your tail. Soon everything will be burning, soon everything will be destroyed . . .’

‘Your affection for metaphor, sir, is tedious.’

Montfaron paused for a moment and tried a different tack. ‘I beg of you, Lord Luxon, to see beyond this vainglorious ambition of winning back America . . .’

Lord Luxon glared accusingly at Alice.

‘I am a man of reason as, I hope, are you,’ said Montfaron. ‘A man born into privilege as, I believe, were you. I ask you, as one gentleman to another, to surrender the anti-gravity machine – while you still have the opportunity to do so . . .’

‘Do not
dare
to threaten me, monsieur!’

It was at that moment that Lord Luxon noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye and he turned to see Inspector Wheeler signalling to the Marquis de Montfaron. He looked back at Alice.

‘Oh, Alice,’ he said. ‘You disappoint me.’

There was only one exit. Lord Luxon sprang forward through the crowds, heading for the elevators. As he drew level with Inspector Wheeler he shoved a large and bulky man at the policeman. They collided heavily and both men were floored.

Momentarily taken aback, Alice now tore after Lord Luxon herself, keeping his blond mane in her sights and pushing through the good-humoured crowds, calling out apologies as she did so. But Lord Luxon’s head abruptly disappeared from view, and when she drew closer she saw that Tom – whom the Carrick brothers had at least taught how to disappear into a crowd – had put out his leg to trip his former employer. This time it was Lord Luxon’s turn to find himself sprawled out on the floor. In a flash of recognition Lord Luxon snarled some unheard threat in Tom’s direction. Alice saw the look of fear on the boy’s face.

Montfaron was tall enough to have seen what happened, too. ‘Bravo, Tom!’ he called over the heads of the crowd.

Lord Luxon lay only feet away from one of the elevators whose doors were slowly closing. Alice put on a spurt, praying that Lord Luxon would not have time to get in. She lost sight of him for an instant and by the time she had reached the elevator the doors were barely a finger’s width apart. The gap was just wide enough for her eyes to meet those of Lord Luxon. He stared at her in cold fury and mouthed something at her which she did not understand. The doors clanged shut.

Alice banged the flat of her hand repeatedly on the elevator button and searched the faces in the crowd for her companions. Tom had vanished once more but she glimpsed Montfaron helping Inspector Wheeler to his feet. He was holding his head and seemed dazed or winded or both. They’ll just have to follow when they can, she thought desperately. I
mustn’t
lose him. She pushed the button again and put her ear to the doors of the second elevator. Please,
please
, she thought, hurry up . . . A second later she heard the cranking of cables and a few seconds after that it arrived. The doors opened agonisingly slowly . . . Alice hurtled in and begged the lift attendant to wait for no one else. If he loved his country he should go
immediately
. She looked so desperate the attendant gave her the benefit of the doubt. ‘Yes, ma’am!’ he said. ‘Going down!’

Had a large party of elderly art lovers from Oslo not chosen that precise moment to rise from their tables and leave the roof terrace
en bloc
, Alice would have had assistance sooner. As it was, the Norwegian seniors spilled out over the deck and clustered in a dense mass in front of the elevators. Tom, Montfaron and Inspector Wheeler were caught up in the cheerful morass of white-haired tourists likes seagulls in an oil slick.

‘Let us through!’ barked Inspector Wheeler as the three of them pushed past frail shoulders in cardigans.

When, at last, they emerged out of the elevator onto the first floor, Lord Luxon and Alice were nowhere to be seen. Inspector Wheeler could not disguise his exasperation. What he had envisaged as an initial meeting to identify a potential suspect had suddenly escalated – quite literally – into a race against time. The stakes were now so high it was dizzying. And he had blown it – there was no question of that. He contemplated ringing 911 for back-up. But then he conjectured that in the time it would take to get through to the right person, and to convince them that they should mobilise half the city’s police force, if necessary, to hunt down Lord Luxon, it would already be too late. And what could he tell them? The truth? No. It was not an option.

‘If he’s out of the building already, which I suspect he is,’ he said to Montfaron through gritted teeth, ‘then we’ve already lost him.’

The three of them hurried towards the Great Hall, scanning the crowds for a glimpse of Lord Luxon’s blond hair or the target of Alice’s T-shirt. Pink-cheeked, and with sweat beading on his brow, Inspector Wheeler strode towards the main entrance like a bloodhound straining at the leash. He saw every plinth, every archway, every balustrade, every cluster of museum attendants, as a potential place of concealment in this desperate game of hide and seek. Finally they stood in the vast, galleried hall, the grand staircase on their left and the main entrance, leading to Fifth Avenue, on their right. Inspector Wheeler looked up at the balconies of the upper floor, at the lofty arches above, and at the rows of stone columns on all sides; he observed the people milling about around them and listened to footfall reverberating around the museum and to the muted babble of conversation.
Had
he left the building? Was Miss Stacey with him? Perhaps she was already dodging between the
traffic, hailing a yellow cab in hot pursuit of Lord Luxon. He hoped so. She couldn’t do any worse than he had.

‘You and Tom stand guard here, I’m going to take a look in the street,’ the Inspector said to Montfaron as he walked outside past a gaggle of security guards.

Tom and the Marquis de Montfaron circled the enquiry desk and then walked at a breathless pace through some of the nearby galleries, Tom often having to trot to keep up with the Marquis’s long legs. They were blind to the exquisite marble forms that graced the Greek sculpture court, to the armoured knights on horses and to the four-poster bed that Montfaron would have felt at home sleeping in. They returned after only a few minutes, somewhat disconsolately, to the Great Hall. It was then that Tom saw her. Tom put his hand on Montfaron’s arm and pointed up to the balcony. Alice was leaning over the broad balustrade on the left of the hall, somewhere above the Greek and Roman galleries, still searching the labyrinthine museum for any sign of Lord Luxon.

‘Wait here for Inspector Wheeler while I fetch Miss Stacey,’ Montfaron told Tom. ‘If he comes back, tell the Inspector where I have gone.’

Tom watched Montfaron hurry towards the grand staircase and then looked to see if there was any sign of Inspector Wheeler. There was not. Tom stood self-consciously in one corner of the Grand Hall, a small and lonely figure, and he put his hand in his pocket, wishing that his mouse was here with him and not in a farmhouse in Derbyshire. But when he looked back up at Alice, he started with shock for he saw someone standing behind her, hands poised above her shoulders . . . Tom immediately bolted towards the stairs.